There was a prisoner waiting for her in the interrogation room. She had him hanging from the wall, manacles over his wrists and ankles, and in full view of the old, rusty interrogation equipment. She was pretty sure that was the right place to put him, at least for now. She wanted him uncomfortable, but not too uncomfortable.

She wasn’t exactly sure what she wanted to do with him yet. Torture was too extreme. Wine and dinner a bit, well, too forward. She was a little mad at him for breaking into her fortress and causing a scene, but she was also … well … thinking of him in other ways that perhaps a woman of her stature and standing in the world needed to be very careful about. She was a lady and a dragon, after all. She knew she needed to punish him for his impudence, and she knew she needed to see to it right away.

The problem was what to wear.

What said ‘Queen of Darkness’ better? The black gown with the silver skulls or the purple number with the faux golden pauldrons? Or what if she did a simple black gown with a purple blazer that lit itself on fire? She tried each of these out as she turned back and forth in front of the mirror.

Maybe she was overthinking this. No, she was definitely overthinking this. But then again, first impressions were everything. She wanted that little mage staring at her as she picked him apart. She wanted his eyes glued right where they were supposed to be until she had him right where she wanted him. She wanted answers. She wanted to know why he was here, who had sent him, and if he was … well, she needed to focus.

Why is it so warm in here?

With a flick of her wrist, she switched to a gown of midnight blue with matching black long coat with a white pattern along the hem. She liked this one, especially the boots that came up to the knee. She gave this one a turn.

Too much? She gave it a half-turn in front of the mirror again. Maybe it’s too much.

She had taken the mirror from the catacombs and brought it to her quarters, of course. What better device for her to dress in front of than a magic looking glass. She liked it. It was easy to use. When she got bored of changing outfits, she simply asked it with her mind to check on someone else in the fortress. Right now, she was trying to use it to find the little delver and the duck, but for whatever reason, the mirror didn’t seem to know where to find her. It could find Aackzor, or the goblin and the dwarf in her dungeon, or her gnolls, or the little girl Cordelia she had sitting under guard in a janitor’s closet, but it didn’t know where the duck or the delver were and that was making Vevic more than a little frustrated.

She found her mind wandering back to her old home. She remembered the archmage Severin, her stepfather who had kept here there. She remembered the caverns and tunnels. She remembered her old lair. She remembered her mother.

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Vevic still didn’t know who had done her mother in. She had found her mother’s broken body laying next to the giant sarcophagus at the far end of the cavern where the final battle had taken place. A stab wound had done her in, a blade through the back. She had a short list of suspicions as to who could have done such a thing, but wasn’t sure exactly who. Her mind turned again to the mage. He had been there. Perhaps he would know.

There was a knock at the door. With a snap of her fingers, she was back in her usual business attire of a simple black dress with purple trim. She opened the door. It was Brightfeather.

The goblin stepped into the room and bowed, “You said to update you if anything happened with the wizard, my Mistress.”

“I did,” Vevic said. “Is everything well?”

“Fortunately, yes,” Brightfeather said. “However, there was an incident involving a duck.”

“Go on.”

“Apparently, there was a duck that got into the hallway where it killed several guards and left a rotten egg broken on the floor. The duck was captured, but now the guards are complaining that they can’t stand the smell.”

“Hrm …” Vevic considered this. “Has the egg been cleaned?”

Brightfeather nodded, “The bird somehow managed to throw the egg against the wall. However, I have a pair of goblins working on it as we speak. The problem is that the smell will likely linger for some time.”

“Ah, I can see how this would be a problem. Can you smell it from inside the interrogation chamber?”

Brightfeather looked uncomfortable, “I checked on that myself, your Darkness, and unfortunately you can. The odor is quite … strong.”

Vevic grimaced at the thought. “What kind of egg was this? Wait. Don’t answer that. I suppose you don’t know since it was broken.” She sighed in frustration. They would have to improvise. If one wanted one’s dreams to come true, then sometimes you just had to go out and make them come true. “Okay, here’s what I want you to do. Unshackle the mage, have Aackzor tie him up by the wrists. Then bring him …” She almost said “up here” but then thought better of it. She still needed some time with the mirror, for one, and for another, under no circumstances did a lady bring a man into her bedroom on the first … interrogation. But where to bring him? Her options were limited as most of the fortress was still something of a mess and she wanted exude as much professionalism as possible. “… to the dining hall, but I want you to have someone clean that place up first. He can hang in the torture chamber for a bit with the smell. Serves him right for having his duck do that.”

Brightfeather bowed again, “I’ll get right on it, your Darkness. Is there anything else?”

She waived, “No, and thank you Brightfeather.”

“Of course, my mistress.”

The goblin bowed once more and was out the door.

Okay, where was I? She turned back to the mirror and frowned. Right, the dress.

This was all wrong. She really should just wear what she wanted to wear and be done with it. She snapped her fingers as a strapless evening gown made entirely of purple flames appeared. She pushed her right leg forward to inspect her three inch heels made of clear glass. The slit in her dress ran all the way up to her thigh. She looked terrifying and … well … hot.

She just couldn’t help herself. She hadn’t had an excuse to dress up since … well … maybe ever. Her mother had never allowed her to date and she had been stuck down there in that dungeon with no decent men to talk to for all those years and now here she was, in her very own fortress with her very own army and about to conduct her first interrogation with her very own first prisoner. Exciting.

She turned to go, made it two steps and stopped. Wait. I really need to do something with my hair. She turned back around and snapped her fingers. Curls? Hmm … No. She snapped them again. Straight? I always go with the straight hair. I’m really not feeling the straight hair today, but what else do I do? Another snap. Braids? Eh … no. Snap. Blunt cut? Snap. Pixie cut? Snap. Bob cut? Snap. Whispy? Snap. Braided crown? Oooh. Not bad. Snap. Messy bun. Ah … nope. Far too casual. I need professional today. Interrogation. Intimidation. Another snap. That was it. She went with the braided crown with the braid running down the back. Perfect.

Oh, and one final thing. With a flex of her hands, her nails came back a shimmering silver and then she walked out the door.